With one final glance at the prone body, Spooner strode back out into the hallway. In the process, Winterman noticed, his heavy boots managed to stamp very effectively on any lingering evidence that might have been left on the kitchen floor. Still, Pyke was in no position to complain.
Spooner was halfway across the hallway when there was a further knock at the door. He looked back quizzically at Winterman, who took his cue and moved past Spooner to open it. He was greeted by the long morose face of Carson, the pathologist. 'DI Winterman,' he intoned, solemnly then, glancing over Winterman's shoulder, he added, 'And Superintendent Spooner. I believe we have another body?'
By contrast with Pyke, who had always maintained a degree of gallows humour, Carson seemed singularly well fitted to his job. He exuded a deathly air, and any lingering lightness of spirit tended to evaporate in his presence. But – and this was his only similarity to Pyke – he knew his job inside out.
'We do indeed,' Spooner said. 'Give him the guided tour, Winterman.'
Winterman led Carson into the kitchen and pointed to the French windows. 'The body's out there in the garden. You can't miss it.'
A faint smile played across Carson's lugubrious face. 'If I have any difficulty, I'll come back for more detailed directions. By the way, there's someone outside waiting to see you.' He spoke the last words in a slightly clandestine tone, as though it were some secret between the two of them.
Winterman nodded his thanks and stepped back into the hall, intrigued. Spooner was standing near the door of the living room, clearly eager to begin his interview with Pyke. Winterman gestured to the front door. 'Someone wants me, apparently. You go on, sir. If you want someone to take notes, DC Hoxton's very experienced. I'll be with you shortly.'
Spooner looked irritated, presumably because Winterman was exercising some independence of thought. 'I'll wait. You know the background.'
'I'll be as quick as I can.'
Winterman peered out the front door, half expecting to find Marsh standing outside. Instead, Mary was waiting a few yards away, close by a newly arrived Humber police car. Winterman glanced back over his shoulder. Spooner had moved so that he could follow Winterman's gaze out of the front door. His expression of irritation was mingled with one of undisguised curiosity.
'Inspector, I've brought the information you asked for,' Mary called.
Winterman was fazed for only a second or two, glad that his back was to Spooner. 'Thanks, Mary. Well done for tracking me down.' He looked back at Spooner, who had moved down the hall to witness the exchange at close hand. 'Mary Ford,' he explained. 'Works in the office. Asked her to track down some names and addresses for me. Villagers to be interviewed.' He stepped out into the cold air. 'Better stay out there, Mary. Crime scene and all that.'
She greeted him by the car, fumbling in her handbag for a small leather-covered book. 'It's just my diary, but I've got to give you something.'
'I'll give it you back later,' he murmured, 'and I won't peep.'
'You won't find much of interest if you do. I need to talk to you.'
'I gathered that.' He glanced back to where Spooner was watching them, framed in the cottage doorway. 'Why so secretive?'
She hesitated, her eyes following Winterman's gaze. 'Who's that?'
'Superintendent Spooner. From HQ. He's overseeing the investigation.'
She nodded, absorbing this information. 'It's about Paul.'
'DC Marsh?'
'Bryan told me you didn't know where he was.'
It was Winterman's turn to hesitate. He lowered his voice still further. 'It looks as if he went out last night sometime. Hoxton thinks his bed wasn't slept in. I don't know whether to be concerned or not.' He paused. 'I haven't broken the news to DS Spooner yet.'
'Bryan said you found some blood.'
'There was some blood by the gravestone, yes. Where we found the child's body.'
'Do you think it was Paul's?'
Again, Winterman found himself wondering about the relationship between Marsh and the young woman in front of him. 'We don't know. Carson will have collected a sample, but until it's analysed we don't know anything.'
'Do you think it might be?'
'Mary, we really don't know. There's no reason to think it is. There's no real reason to worry about Paul yet. He can look after himself.' Winterman glanced over his shoulder again, conscious Spooner's patience was likely to be limited.
'Ivan, there are some things I need to tell you.'
Here it comes, he thought. The truth about her relationship with Marsh. It was probably best to have it confirmed sooner rather than later.
'Paul's my cousin. We try not to make a big thing of it now we're working together, but we're pretty close. Like brother and sister.'
Like brother and sister, Winterman found himself mentally repeating. 'I thought Paul wasn't local?'
'He's not. Not originally. His mother was Mam's sister. She moved to Nottingham after she married. Paul was sent out here at the start of the war with his younger brother.'
Winterman was working out the ages. Marsh was in his early twenties – maybe twenty-two, twenty-three. At the start of the war, he'd have been a teenager. 'They were evacuees?'
'Not part of the official programme, though we had plenty of those around here. But they were living in the centre of Nottingham. His dad worked in the Players factory. When the war broke out, their mam and dad thought it best to send them to stay with us.' Winterman noticed that there were tears in the corner of her eyes. 'We got on well. Paul's a couple of years younger than me. His brother was a few years younger still–' She stopped, as if she didn't know how to go on. 'I'm sorry,' she said, registering his backward glance. 'You're busy.'
'It's not that. It's just I'm conscious Spooner's likely to interrupt us before very long.'
'I'll tell you properly later. But what you need to know is that Paul's little brother vanished.'
'Vanished?'
'In the first summer of the war. The hot summer. We used to go out to try to see the fighters going over, the three of us. One day, while out with some other friends, we managed to lose Gary, Paul's brother.'
Winterman had registered that Spooner had detached himself from the doorway and was heading in their direction. 'What happened?'
'We never knew exactly. Gary dawdled behind. We were chatting, hadn't realised he wasn't there. Then we couldn't find him. Paul never forgave himself.'
'What's this got to with Paul's disappearance?' Winterman nodded to draw her attention to Spooner's approach.
'I don't know. Maybe nothing. Paul had a thing about this for a long time. It's what drew him to the police force. But he's not talked about it for years. But then I thought – these bodies. Paul might have seen a chance to find out something. To find out what happened to Gary.'
'Anybody mind if I break up this jolly social occasion?' It was Spooner, standing watching them from some feet away.
'Sorry, sir. Mary was just explaining the list of addresses she's brought.' He waved the diary vaguely towards Spooner, his palm concealing its real nature.
'I hope it's useful bloody information,' Spooner said. 'Pardon my French, madam.' He bowed slightly towards Mary.
Winterman glanced at Mary. 'I'm sure it will be. You can give me the rest of the detail later, Mary. I'm sorry. There's a lot to do.'
'I hope we've not brought you out of your way,' Spooner said to Mary.
'I live in Framley. I couldn't get into the office today. That's why I thought I'd make myself useful and bring this up to the inspector.'
'Very commendable,' Spooner said. 'Researched it at home, did you?'
Mary said nothing, and Winterman made a mental note that there was a danger of underestimating DS Spooner.
'Come on, Winterman,' Spooner went on. 'Time to see what Pyke's got to say for himself.' He peered up at the leaden sky. 'All very well for you youngsters, but I'm sick of this bloody snow.' He turned and furnished them both with a broad but mirthless smile. 'Still, change is on its way, eh, so they say?'